“Hi.”

I glare at Blaine’s smug, tanned, bleach-toothed face in the hotel lobby.

“Oh, hi.”

“Ivy,” he reaches out to touch my arm but I pull away.

“Contractually obligated, Blaine,” I say icily. “That is the only reason I’m here right now.”

He nods, looking contritely at the floor. “That’s fair, I deserve that.”

I roll my eyes. “Please don’t play the victim card. Spare me.”

He nods again. “Thanks for being here.”

“I told you, contractually-”

“No, I know, it’s just-” he shrugs. “Ivy, your brand is better than mine, and we both know it. I know you’re carrying me, and I just want to say thank you.”

“Please don’t.”

I’m literally counting the minutes until this ridiculous thing is over. I’m here to mingle, smile for the branding teams from sneaker and cosmetic companies, and eco-travel destinations. I’m going to smile, I’m going to shake some hands, snap some pictures where I pretend I don’t want to drown Blaine in the punch bowl, and then I’m going home.

To Silas.

“Ivy, I know you don’t believe me, but that whole thing from before, that really was a photoshoot. There’s no one else.”

“That’s great, Blaine,” I say evenly, not smiling.

“I have to go.”

“So we’ll meet here in the lobby before we head out?”

“Fine.”

I think he’s about to say something else, but I ignore him as I turn and step towards the elevator banks. The doors to one open, and I blink as I suddenly come face-to-face with my assistant.

“Ainsley!”

She jumps at my sudden greeting before she focuses on me “Oh, Ivy!”

I throw my arms around her. “What are you doing here?”

She frowns as she pulls away. “Uh, my job?”

I grin. “Sorry I meant I didn’t know you were here here. Are you staying in the hotel?”

She nods. “Yeah, Lori and her crew put me up for tonight too.”

“So how’s Boston been? You’ve just been staying with your friend?”

She blinks quickly. “What?”

“Your friend? Isn’t she someone you went to college with?”

Ainsley clears her throat. “Oh, right, yeah. It’s been fun. How’s home been?”

I arch my brows. “It’s been…interesting.”

“What happened with that guy you hit on the pier?”

I laugh. “It’s a very long story.”

She glances down at her wrist watch. “Can it wait? You have to be ready in two hours or Lori is going to have a fucking meltdown.”

I grin again and give her another quick hug. “I’m so glad you’re here for this shit-show.”

* * *

After a long, hot shower, I check my reflection in the mirror in the hotel room mirror. Lori and her team have picked out this slinky black thing with tiny shoulder straps and silver sequins that wash down one side like a wave. I have to give her credit, it looks great.

I finish piling my hair up on top of my head, the slight curl I’ve given it post-shower falling to my shoulders and giving me that “casually elegant without trying” look that I’ve actually spent the better part of two hours trying to nail.

People always forget, even when they do it themselves, that the photographs people post online are the best of a bunch you took. We all forget that what people post about themselves is the highlights reel - the polished and shined side of what are ultimately the same, plain, everyday lives we all have. The same rough patches, the same bad hair days, the same hangovers, regrets, second thoughts, and heartbreaks.

I frown as I think of the way I walked away from Silas down at the docks before I left - at the way I snapped at him like that. Being home in Shelter Harbor and being around him - it’s bringing it all back. It was never simple with us, but I just want it to all be how it was back then.

Fresh, innocent, fearless.

We were like little kids who go barreling down the hill on their bikes - fearless because they don’t know they can get hurt. It’s not until you do fall, and realize how much that hurts, that you’re suddenly more guarded, and more cautionary in how you do it the next time.

I want to unlearn the hurt. I want to forget the history and the regrets and the broken hearts.

I pick up my phone and call him, but my face falls as it goes to voicemail. I try a second time before sighing and stuffing the phone into my clutch and meeting my own eyes in the mirror again.

I take a deep breath.

Okay, time to do this.

* * *

“Where the fuck is he?”

I’m pacing downstairs, checking the clock on the far wall of the lobby and grinding my teeth.

Blaine’s late, of course.

I mutter under my breath. “Seriously, he’s had two damn hours to put a fucking suit on. What’s taking him so long?”

Ainsley is silent when I look up.

“Ains?”

“Hmm?” She jerks her head up as if I’ve just startled her out of her thoughts.

“Blaine?”

She blinks. “Yes?”

“Do you know what’s keeping him?”

“Oh,” she blinks again, looking bizarrely and very uncharacteristically unfocused and scatter-brained. “I don’t know?”

I groan. “Okay, I’m going to do this stupid event, but I am not going to be late because Blaine’s rubbing tanner on his face or whatever he’s doing.”

I scowl as I turn and storm towards the elevators.

“Whoa, where are you going?”

My storming away breaks Ainsley out of her weird daze as she comes scurrying after me.

“To drag Blaine down here so we can get this thing over with.” I jab my finger at the elevator button.

“I’m sure he’s coming, Ivy.”

“Well he will when I go drag him out by the collar.”

“Ivy, we should just wait.”

Ainsley is frowning and checking her watch skittishly, but she follows me into the elevator.

Blaine’s shirt is unbuttoned when he answers the door to my impatient knocking.

“Oh, uh-”

His eyes dart from me to Ainsley standing behind me.

“Um, hey?”

I roll my eyes. “Are you seriously not ready yet?”

He blinks quickly, his eyes darting between Ainsley and I again. “Yeah, sorry, I got distracted.”

I follow him into the suite as he tucks his shirt into his suit pants and grabs his jacket from the back of a chair. He stops in the mirror, posing with these ridiculous facial expressions, as if he’s trying out for the cover of GQ instead of going to a stupid vendor gala.

Ainsley is wringing her hands, standing just inside the doorway when I glance up at her.

“Ains.”

“Yeah?”

I give her a small smile. “Relax, we won’t be late.” I turn and sigh heavily at Blaine, who’s still preening in the mirror.

“So long as someone gets their fucking hair in place so we can go?”

Blaine looks up, smiling. “Well, shall we?”

I roll my eyes again as I turn to my assistant. “Ains, can you call for the car?”

Her face is white as she frowns.

“Ainsley?”

She swallows. “I, uh, I can’t find my phone.”

I furrow my brow at her. “You sure you’re feeling okay today? You look ill. Is it in your bag?” I nod at the huge shoulder bag she’s hardly ever without.

Ainsley frowns as she starts to dig through it. “I- I don’t know.”

I sigh another exasperated groan as I open my clutch. “Look, I’ll just call it.”

“No! That’s-” She looks up at me quickly. “That’s okay, I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

“Why are you being so weird?”

I give her another curious look as I hit the call button on my phone.

Her phone rings its distinctive tone - the theme from Friends, and I watch as her face goes white.

The phone rings again, and I’m still staring expectantly at her bag, even though that’s not where the sound is coming from, when it suddenly hits me.

I turn slowly at the sound of the television theme song ringing melodically from across the room.

…From somewhere in Blaine’s bed.

I look up to see him looking at me in the same weird, slightly fearful way she is, and then it all clicks.

Oh, wow.

I’m dizzy from it, turning to stare at the two of them as Ainsley’s tell-tale phone goes quiet in the silence of the room.

“Wow,” I say quietly, shaking my head and locking eyes with my assistant - my friend.

She looks away quickly.

“This is actually amazing,” I mutter before barking out a humorless laugh.

“Blaine, you have outdone yourself.”

“Ivy, it’s-”

“Right, not what I think it is, is that it?” I look at him pitifully. “Please, spare me.”

I turn back to my assistant, this time narrowing my eyes at her until she looks up mournfully at me.

“And you?” I tsk as I shake my head.

“Ivy-”

“Go fuck yourself. Or Blaine, I honestly don’t even care.”

And then I’m gone, storming down the hallway.

I take the elevator to my floor, grabbing my things from my room and shoving them in my overnight bag.

I don’t even stop to change.

And then it’s down to the lobby, out the front door, and directly into a cab to North Station.

Because I’m not upset, and I’m not even that angry.

I’m just tired.

And I want to go home.